the dirt in which our roots may grow
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: The day his older brother Robb gets married with no warning whatsoever despite his decades-old betrothal to King Aerys's only daughter, Jon Stark's world is turned upside down. For Daenerys Targaryen, whether her father is being conned into accepting a different heir to the Stark name doesn't make much of a difference - not until she arrives in Winterfell, at least.


**Notes: Written for the Jonerys Secret Santa. Happy holidays! Again, with the lack of tags on here, a quick walkthrough - this is a canon divergence in which Aerys is still alive, Cersei ends up married to Rhaegar, Jon is legitimised as a Stark and is eventually engaged to the king's only daughter through circumstances explained in the fic. There will be two chapters to this and the majority of the canon divergences can likely be figured out as you read. The setting will be explained more in-depth in the second part, but really the most dramatic differences are in Cersei's characterisation (who, I figure, would have turned out to be a much different person if her general life experience hadn't been the way it is in canon), so you'll be fine. Ages and age differences are a mess here, I'll admit, so the less you pay attention to them, the better.**

 **There are bits and pieces of references to a specific Greek myth I've put in certain motives and tropes from - props to anyone who can figure out which one it is. Title taken from Sleeping At Last's North, which feels like it really goes with the vibe of this entire fic, really.**  
 **Hope you enjoy it and feedback is always welcome! ^^**

* * *

 ** _1\. Jon_**

"I am _so_ sorry."

"I'm sure you are."

"Jon, if I had ever known—"

"We are never going to be allowed to forget this," Jon spat out, his father's abrupt departure from the room enough for him to lose what little restrain he'd had. "You do know that. You always have. Just because Father found a way to save our skins doesn't mean it's going to go well. We're lucky the princess doesn't care about her betrothal one way or another or the King would know and then—"

"I know," Robb interrupted. King Aerys was unpredictable as it were; if he ever realised that he had given his only daughter to a second son – a legitimised bastard, really – there would be hell to pay. The fact that he had never met them had helped immensely. "I never meant to put you in this position, but Talisa—"

Jon shook his head. He'd avoided making eye contact so far, focusing on the dreary landscape outside instead, but it seemed just about inevitable now. It was a pity, really – there was a certain comfort in the mists stretching over Winterfell at this time of the season; a certain familiarity that he realised he was desperately clinging to. He could use any sort of familiarity he could find just about now that everything had started changing more quickly than he had time to get used to it.

"I don't want to hear it." It had been amusing to listen to his brother waxing poetic about her and his infatuation when it had been little but that and now that it had managed to turn Jon's entire life around, he preferred to stay as far away as possible. He was happy that he'd found love and had gladly participated in the hasty ceremony arranged for their marriage, but the consequences had come crashing down sooner than he had expected them too, overwhelming in their magnitude. "Just— make her happy. Make sure it was worth it."

"It was," Robb hurried to say, clearly desperate to make amends while also being as honest as possible. Jon found himself drawn into a quick embrace and felt some of his resolve to stay angry slowly melt away. His brother's endless faith in the future tended to have that effect on him, no matter how much he preferred not to admit it. "I know that it's easy for me to say, but it really was."

"Not so easy once Father's done with you." Robb was a grown man and it would be both difficult to try and punish him now that the damage had already been done, but both Ned and Lady Catelyn would most certainly try. She had yet to say anything to Jon about the current events, whether because she hadn't had the time or because it was taking her a while to think it through, but he couldn't help but tense just at the thought of it. She had never been particularly fond of him – and with good reason too, of course – and he really rather doubted that this would be taken well. There wasn't any other way, though – both Bran and Rickon were still much too young to fill the place that their brother straying off his mapped trail had left. The difference between him and Jon wasn't too noticeable for the princess to truly protest, he hoped, but she would most definitely do just that if presented with a child and then there would be hell to pay. From the stories that Jon had heard, she had taken after her oldest brother rather than her father and it was just as well, but even if he had thought her nothing else about ruling, the crown prince must have brought her up with the pride always reserved for the Targaryen dynasty. The last thing they needed was to offend her when she would already have to accommodate them more than she'd ever expected.

"It's not Father I'm worried about," Robb said. Jon chanced a look in his direction – the guilt had been replaced by anxiety, as if his line of thought had progressed in the same direction. "He already told me everything he wanted to."

"We'll just have to see how well this holds up, then."

"I suppose we will." His brother patted him on the back again, this time more in support rather than the apology that any sort of affection had been for the last week or so. "You know, I definitely wouldn't have minded marrying her _before_ and everyone assured me that she's lovely, but—" He faltered for just long enough for Jon to decide to put him out of his misery by returning his tentative smile. "For your sake – and for the rest of us too – I hope Daenerys Targaryen is the best princess this world has ever seen."

 ** _2\. Daenerys_**

She felt so light. Anxiety tended to have that kind of consequence for her, she had always noticed – her limbs, her entire body felt like a feather floating in an open sky, high above everyone else. It was easy to imagine herself in one of her ancestors's places, then, on the back of the dragons they had once ridden. It was as calm as she ever got, but it died a quick death this time, interrupted by the struggle she could hear outside her room.

"Your Grace, the princess is feeling unwell—"

Daenerys's heart sped up its rhythm, only for the tension to melt into relieved amusement at the voice on the other side, much higher than her father's could ever be.

"Let me through, you little fool. If you truly cared about _the princess_ , you would know better."

Not deigning the servant girl with the time to answer, Cersei made her way into the room and slammed the door shut behind her back. Some of the irritation evaporated from her features immediately, giving way to a grave sort of understanding.

"It's decided, then."

"It's decided." Daenerys thrust the raven scroll out to her. She hadn't been aware of the tears sliding silently down her cheeks until she heard her voice struggling through them. "I got a raven this morning."

Cersei extracted the message from her fingers, raising an eyebrow at what she found there.

"Jon Stark," she echoed. "I had thought—"

"Me too. Who knows what happened to the other one." If she were to be honest, she didn't care an awful lot either way. She had met neither Robb nor Jon Stark and it made little difference which stranger she was being sold off to. The arrangement had been made so long ago – Ned Stark's first born for Aerys's only daughter – that she rather doubted that her father even remembered what the name of her betrothed had been supposed to be. Daenerys herself had barely remembered; she'd been so young when the contract had happened. "I always knew it was coming, but—"

"But it's different to know what you're actually getting."

"Yes." It seemed so simple when put this way; one of Cersei's many talents. "I suppose it is."

"It isn't fair. You might get lucky – a lot of women do – but it still isn't fair, I know." Daenerys wiped her tears away to turn around and send a scandalised look in Cersei's general direction. She had made herself comfortable on the bed, unbothered as usual. "Oh, it's all right. You don't have to pretend. It doesn't matter how good of a deal your father gets out of it, you're still the one being sold. It's a fortunate coincidence if you're happy about it _later_."

The bitter edge to her voice was about as shocking as hot oil spilling on skin and just as painful to hear. It wasn't that she didn't complain about anything – she did, constantly, about everything – but never about her marriage; never in front of her, at least. And she'd had quite a while to do so – she had known her for as long as she could remember. "But you _wanted_ to marry Rhaegar."

"Of course I did. Who didn't? I was _thirteen_. Who else would I want to marry? He was kind and patient and understanding. Still is." Cersei's lips twitched into an echo of a sincere smile. "Precisely the kind of husband that any of us could pray for. And yes, I love him," she continued, Daenerys's shell-shocked expression clearly still written over her features if she felt the need to reassure her. "I grew to. Just as you might grow to love Jon Stark. But that's not quite the point, is it?"

It was no use denying it. "No," Daenerys whispered. "It's not."

"I thought it might not be." Cersei deserted her place on the bed to near her instead. Her green eyes were somewhat shielded again; the muddy waters of the past making way to the usual calculating edge that her gaze held even in the most intimate of conversations. "Rhaegar is going to be the one to give you away; that should make it easier once you find yourself surrounded by strangers. It did for me. Jaime was by my side the entire time, for as long as they allowed him to get in the way of the ceremony. I don't think I could have done this without him. Not with my sanity intact, that is."

It was as much as encouragement as anyone had ever managed to get out of Cersei and in a way, it was the most comforting thing she could have said. Her sister-in-law – more a sister, really, after all those years – had spent the better half of her life in King's Landing and had always avoided her father and younger brother as much as custom would allow, but she'd never forgotten who she was. The golden lace over the bright red bodice of her dress would have been proof enough, but it was there in all her jewellery, too; in the spark in her eyes that was more Lannister bite than Targaryen fire. It only made sense, she supposed; Cersei's beloved twin was in the Kingsguard, after all. She'd had _something_ to cling on to before she'd made the Red Keep her home. Not that Daenerys would have much liked to be accompanied by Viserys on her way North – if anything, leaving him behind was one of the only upsides of the situation that she could think of – but it had never occurred to her just how lonely the entire ordeal would be.

Daenerys allowed herself a quick look out at the view that her tower provided. The city outside was waking up to the new day. For the first time in years, she would have to be quite brave if she wanted to face it.

 ** _3\. Jon_**

In just the last fortnight, everyone in Jon's immediate surroundings had turned out to be as deeply informed about House Targaryen as anyone could be. In the midst of it all - the frantic lessons to refresh the knowledge of the ruling dynasty's history that he'd been forced to memorise all the way back in his childhood, the second-hand stories about the princess that he'd received so far, the proper order that would have to be applied to a royal wedding ceremony outside of the capital city and that he'd have to follow with painful accuracy - he hadn't had the time to feel at all anxious about her arrival and had almost managed to forget just how soon that would actually occur.

While it had been true that all parties involved had wanted the union to take place as soon as possible, Jon was still left with the distinct impression that Daenerys Targaryen was rather desperate to leave King's Landing. If her father had been anyone but Aerys, it wouldn't have made sense - she seemed to be well-loved among the population and if the ravens his father had received were to be believed, the celebrations that had followed their engagement had been memorable for a wedding that the common folk wouldn't even have the privilege of witnessing. They hadn't been eager to part with her, but had given her the best possible goodbye all the same. Her brother would be travelling with her to take his place in the ceremony, so it couldn't have been him she was evading either. Said brother's family would be accompanying them as well, as far as Jon had understood, so that only really left the King as the source of her relative enthusiasm to go through with the contract that had been formed between their families a little over twenty years ago.

It would be a small comfort, Jon supposed, but a comfort all the same, to know that she'd be safe from him from now on - as safe as she could ever be as his daughter, that was. He was acutely aware that she couldn't know what her betrothed would be like, but this little detail was just about the only thing that didn't worry him about their union. It wouldn't be too difficult to be a pleasant surprise when compared to the Mad King, or so everyone had told him so far.

Still, Jon found himself wanting _more_. More for her, for them; more for the future that they would have to build from the circumstances they had been handled. _I'll be there with you every step of the way_ , Robb had assured him, half guilt and half brotherly concern, and Jon had welcomed the help with open arms, still haunted by the realisation that in the end, he would have to be the one to handle it all. All those years, all those lessons aimed in his older brother's direction and here they were now, desperately trying to switch their histories in the last possible moment.

But now that was in the past too. It was too late for them to try and rehearse anything anymore; the royal family had arrived.

It had taken a moment - a few moments - for the reality of it to take root in Jon's mind. They'd _arrived_. Still hours away, everyone who'd seen them had assured them, but the frenzy of preparation in Winterfell had got even more frantic all of a sudden and it had all led up to the Starks lining together right in front of the castle, Jon as the centrepiece of their positioning. Just a few years back, he would have stayed in the back and made place for his siblings so that they could pay their respects and, with a twinge of horror that he hadn't fully allowed into his mind until this very last moment, Jon realised that nothing Robb or his father or Maester Luwin or _anyone_ said or did could have prepared him for this.

A bit to the left of him, but sounding as if from miles away, Sansa and Arya had managed to get into an argument over the first carriage to make it through the front gates, soon cut short by the door opening and a woman stepping out. It caused everyone to go quiet, he noticed, the court's tension and anticipation almost as high as his own.

She was very beautiful. It was the only first immediate observation that he could make, along with the typical Southern caution that seeped through every move at the first sight of Winterfell. It could be her, he supposed - the bright red of her flowing dress, the gold of her hair and the bright, statue-smooth features weren't too far from what he'd expected - and Jon's heart stuttered painfully in his chest but, _that's Cersei Lannister, you idiot_ , Sansa hissed at their sister's incessant questions somewhere in the vicinity, _Prince Rhaegar's princess, please be quiet,_ and yes, of course it was - her eyes had passed over them all with a puzzling mix of curiosity and mild indifference that Jon hoped wouldn't apply to his future bride to the same degree. She locked onto him eventually and, before Jon could brace himself for whatever judgement she was about to pass, turned back towards the carriage with a smile, extending an arm towards whoever else had occupied it with her. The moment of hesitation had to have been less than the beat between two intakes of breath and it still felt like a short eternity before finally, _finally_ , she came down the stairs too.

It _had_ to be her this time. Jon's mind was crowded by a thousand different thoughts crashing into one – the crown prince had to be somewhere here too, but he would likely present himself last to let Winterfell's inhabitants see their future Lady first and _that_ was an entirely different realm of consideration that he couldn't quite handle right now – but it was still easy to see her from the picture everyone who had met her had tried to paint for him so far. They'd all been right and she was really rather breathtaking, but it was the details that seemed to imprint themselves onto him the most.

Princess Daenerys was a small woman – smaller than he'd expected her to be, although it might have been the heavily ornamented dress that made her seem even more so – but Jon vaguely thought that he would have likely identified her by the way she held herself alone. She had all the markings of her family, too; her crown of silver hair partially braided away from her face just enough for him to be able to see her face clearly; the burst of colour in her eyes far too lively for her otherwise composed expression. Jon stepped closer despite his better judgement – he'd have to greet her either way, he knew, so why wait? – just as she neared him with more purpose than she seemed to feel, the careful recognition in her eyes all the encouragement he could need. She held his gaze even when he took her hand to kiss, the cool greeting of, "Lord Stark," warmed a little by the exploratory gleam in her eyes.

It wasn't just desperation, then, Jon thought with a surge of relief. At least, not anymore.

 ** _4\. Daenerys_**

Her goodbye to King's Landing had been painfully long.

The celebrations had been heart-warming, Daenerys had to admit, and far better than any occasion in her name that her father had decided to organise. She'd left the capital half-relieved, half-devastated and the odd emotion had followed her all the way up into the North weeks later, as she'd watched the near-summer of King's Landing slowly melt into spring's first bloom the farther away they went until she hadn't been able to track their movement by the way the seasons hadn't quite caught up with her home yet – the empty, long stretches of fields as they neared Winterfell didn't have much of anything that wasn't produce. The forests were dark and endless, with thick, heavy leaves that let little sunlight onto the road below and flowers and orchards were essentially nonexistent. Spring had long since arrived, but life had not – at least, not in the way she had always been used to.

The people changed once the ancient castle came into view, too. The usual crowd in King's Landing was so varied that Daenerys would have a hard time identifying the locals, but the same couldn't be said here – their dark eyes and long, sullen faces were enough of a giveaway. _They might look like savages,_ Cersei had said one day with the usual mild amusement bellying the offence, _but there's something charming about it. That's what it felt like when I met Ned Stark, at least_. Daenerys wasn't sure she necessarily wanted a charming savage for a husband and she said so, but Cersei had waved her off. _If his son is even a little like him, he can't be too bad to look at. If the rumours are to be believed, we can't expect him to look much like Lady Stark and thank the gods for that._

Asking about more details would be a waste of time, Daenerys had been sure, so she'd saved them both the annoyance and had directed her attention towards the world outside instead. It wouldn't be easy to get used to it, she could already tell, but she was nowhere near close to giving up. For the first time, the prospect of marriage was just real enough to stop being terrifying.

Of course, that had been quite a few days before the wedding _itself_.

The evening was perfect for this, everyone she hadn't asked had told her – the sky was clear, the weather was as warm as it ever got at this point in Spring, and the Godswood had been prepared for the occasion better than ever before. It was easy to see the truth of it now that she was walking between the trees, the black and red of her dress coming alive under the light of the torches that surrounded the crowd until she could almost feel the flames licking at her skin. There, somewhat buried in the countless layers of the skirt, it was easy to hold her brother's hand desperately enough that it had to hurt, but she couldn't let go. Not just yet.

"Who comes before the old gods this night?" Ned Stark said as soon as they'd come within hearing distance and Daenerys tuned out the needless introduction as best as she could, preferring to focus on the moment where her part of it would have to come. To her immense relief, Jon Stark looked about as unprepared as she felt, although it would be difficult to tell if she hadn't spent all the time since tomorrow morning examining every little expression that crossed his features. They hadn't had long to get to know each other – Rhaegar and Cersei had to leave as soon as possible – and it wouldn't have been proper to try either way, but she had an excuse this time and had latched onto it before it would be taken away. It got her a smile in return; tentative and barely noticeable on his icy Northern features – and Daenerys couldn't help but return it to the only degree that protocol would allow. He hadn't turned out to be quite what she'd expected and, as he introduced himself in front of an audience that had known him since birth, she tried to determine what exactly it was that made him so strange. Was it the smile? It was framed by a halo of pitch black curls that softened his otherwise sharp face and Daenerys could have spent the rest of the night looking for the reason if Rhaegar hadn't squeezed her hand hard enough to force her attention back on the ceremony.

"...do you take this man?" Ned Stark was asking, his expression far more open than her father's had ever been and it was the first wedding she'd ever attended, Daenerys thought, where a variation of this question was, in fact, sincere.

She didn't let it stay unanswered for long.

"I take this man."


End file.
